


Rejection Hotline

by writeside



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: But only a little, Coffee Shop Dates, Fluff, Identity Porn, Multi, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 22:25:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeside/pseuds/writeside
Summary: It started with a wrong number.It actually started with a year’s worth of wrong numbers.Or: Bossuet is a Hot Girl’s rejection hotline. Every weekend he gets texts from rejected men thinking they’re gonna score. Somehow this ends in happy polyamory.





	Rejection Hotline

**Author's Note:**

> So many shoutouts to my trash partner riley, who betaed this for me. I'm not sure I would have finished this if I didn't want to be able to show it to them.

 

**Unknown number:** Hey cutie!!! I can’t believe you laughed at my line about dna helicase haha I think I fell in love

 

**Contact saved as: fuckboy#48**

 

**Bossuet:** Oof

**Bossuet:** Sorry bro

**Bossuet:** Thats rough

**Bossuet:** Def no love here.

**Bossuet:** anyway, can i get back to you about consent and toxic masculinity in like an hour? 

**Bossuet:** im eating

**fuckboy#48:** haha what?

**fuckboy#48:** sorry i don't understand

**Bossuet:** you talked to a hot girl last night, right? I'm her rejection hotline. she sends me her fuckboys and i teach them about how to handle rejection and why a girl might not feel comfortable rejecting them in person. 

**Bossuet:** it’s good wholesome fun

**fuckboy#48:** oh. okay. 

**fuckboy#48:** I’m joly.

**Bossuet:** hi joly.

**fuckboy#48:** So. How’s your night?

**Bossuet:** Well like I said, I’m eating right now. Normally whoever Hot Girl rejected last night take a little longer to get in contact so we haven’t reached my scheduled fuck with fuckboys hours. Fortunately for both of us I’m flexible.

**fuckboy#48:** ;)

**Bossuet:** No

**fuckboy#48:** Yeah. what are you eating?

**Bossuet:** tom soup

**fuckboy#48:** made from freshly squeezed toms?

**Bossuet:** free range, organic thomases. only the best for yrs truly

**fuckboy#48:** I’m happy for you, my man. Sorry for bugging you I guess.

**Bossuet:** No problem! You’ve been better company than most of Hot Girl’s fuckboys

**fuckboy#48:** Yeah sorry again about that.

**Bossuet:** Haha we really are good.

**fuckboy#48:** Okay. talk to you later?

**Bossuet:** def

 

**fuckboy#48:** How was your tom soup?

**Bossuet:** i think i tasted some tims but that’s what i get for trusting kroger brand organic. otherwise it was good.

**fuckboy#48:** Nice, I’m glad

**Bossuet:** Me too.

**fuckboy#48:** Yeah.

**Bossuet:** So. ready for that talk?

**fuckboy#48:** God yes.

**Bossuet:** haha really?

**fuckboy#48:** First of all. Do you think someone can be intimidating without realizing it?

**Bossuet:** What do you mean?

**fuckboy#48:** Like, do you think I scared the girl who uses you as a rejection hotline? Like did she not feel safe saying no?

**fuckboy#48:** I mean, I’m so glad she has you as an out and I’m so so fucking glad nothing happened between us I just

**fuckboy#48:** How do I make sure to give off ‘please, let me know if you’re not interested!’ vibes?

**Bossuet:** Damn this isn’t how this normally goes.

**Bossuet:** do you take all rejection this hard?

**fuckboy#48:** I do when it might mean I’m coercing people!

**Bossuet:** Oh.

**fuckboy#48:** I mean, she didn’t feel safe saying no to me. Has anyone else not felt safe? Did they end up saying yes? I don’t know if I could live with myself.

**fuckboy#48:** How do I give off softer vibes?

**Bossuet:** Oh man I don’t know. Bars aren’t really my scene. I think you just have to be clear and upfront about how acceptable no is, and prove that you take no as an answer?

**Bossuet:** Like, if someone leans away, don’t follow. If they say no to something innocent like a joke or a conversation topic, accept that no questions and move on.

**Bossuet:** Let them know how you respond to little nos so they can trust you with bigger ones, you know?

**fuckboy#48:** Yeah.

**fuckboy#48:** Yeah man. 

**fuckboy#48:** Thank you.

 

**fuckboy#48:** u meant like, tomato soup, right?

**Bossuet:** yes. i ate tomato soup.

**fuckboy#48:** okay good. 

**Bossuet:** anytime

 

**Contact name changed to: Joly**

 

**Bossuet:** Hey sorry if this is weird

**Bossuet:** But uh

**Bossuet:** Thank you

**Joly:** no problem?

  
  


Musichetta had woken up late to a wicked early shift at the Coffee Bean and was not in the mood for any shenanigans. That’s why when a man who resembled a particularly floppy puppy fumbled his change and whispered “Oh shit, it’s you!” Musichetta only froze. She couldn’t really blame herself for her inaction. After all, who expected that greeting from a stranger?

“Oh shit,” Musichetta replied.

“Sorry!” The man who had oh shitted her gasped. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

Musichetta blinked, then gestured kind of helplessly to her apron and place behind the counter. “Oh,” the man said. “Yes.”

“Can you buy a coffee for yourself?” she asked.

“I can!” the man said, “Could you make me a soy mocha frappe?”

“I can,” Musichetta said, and rang it in.

“Can I leave you a tip the price of a coffee as an apology?” the man asked.

Could he? Musichetta vaguely recognized him, but she couldn’t place from where. Would this coffee tip mean something? What would it mean?

“No strings attached,” the man insisted, as if reading her thoughts. “There are no strings in this coffee sized tip. This tip is the opposite of celery. Its Yrelec. It’s a relic. Of celery. Memories of cel. Only not at all, this is nothing like celery, there are no strings here. Promise.”

Musichetta can’t help but laugh. “Okay,” she says. “Give me your relic tip.”

“I just wanted to apologize,” the man said, shoving a five dollar bill into the tip jar. Musichetta recognized the man now. He’d been at the bar last night. He’d been sweet and sincere and tried some line about DNA Helicase unzipping her genes that hadn’t been as funny as he thought but she’d it was cute how he tried to be slick while smiling so kindly. 

She’d kind of wanted to kiss him gently, but she hadn’t felt like going home with anyone that night so she had slipped him her fake number and left. She hadn’t really expected to run into him again, ever, let alone at her favorite coffee shop. And she hadn’t expected a no strings coffee tip or an apology.

“Sit down,” she told him. “I can go on break now. I’ll bring your drink and one for myself, we can talk.”

“No strings,” the man said, pointing to the tip he’s left.

“Not feeling any strings,” Musichetta promised, smiling to herself as she prepared the man’s drink.

“I’m sorry if I made you feel unable to let me down,” the man said when she sat down with their drinks. “It wasn’t my intention and anything I did or didn’t do to give you the impression I wouldn’t have accepted a no is entirely on me and I am very sorry for it.”

“It’s fine,” she said, because it was. “I’m sorry I made you worry about it so much? I didn’t really think when I gave you my rejection number, it was mostly habit.”

“Oh,” the man said. “Well. Thanks for saying that. I’m still sorry?”

Chetta’s lips quirked. “Fair enough. You can never be too careful with consent.”

The man nodded vigorously, then stuck out his hand. “Joly,” he said. It was a strange thing to say, Chetta thought, before she realized it was his name. 

“Musichetta,” she said, shaking his hand. “But you can call me Chetta for short.”

“Music-hetta to my ears!” Joly crowed. Chetta groaned but she didn’t stop smiling.

“So how did you meet the Boss anyway?” Joly asked, and Chetta was lost again.

“Sorry, the what?”

“The Eagle?” Joly asked. “The wind beneath my wings? Bossuet?”

None of it sounded like anything Chetta recognized.

“Sorry,” she said, “But I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bossuet!” Joly said again. “The man behind your rejection hotline! The man who takes all your fuckers and sends them puns about consent and how to do it better?”

Chetta blinked.

“There’s a guy who answers my fake phone number?”

In retrospect it was kind of obvious. Of course the number she’d faked lead to a real person. It had just always felt like her number, so much she forgot it was actually a stranger’s. 

“Oh my god,” Joly said. “You don’t know Bossuet.”

“I just picked a random number,” Chetta confirmed. 

“Oh my god.”

“The poor bastard,” Chetta moaned. “I forgot there was a real person behind my rejection number! He’s put up with so many terrible people for more than a year now!”

“To be fair,” Joly said, “so have you.”

And that. That wasn’t the response Musichetta expected. It made her shoulders lower and something inside her smooth out. “Yeah,” she said. “Yeah.”

Joly smiled softly at her, eyes gentle and coffee cup in his hand large and covered in whipped cream. He looked nothing like the boys she normally turned down. He looked sweet. 

“Bossuet really is great, thought,” he said. “Like, if he’s into guys? Would not reject that hotline, if you get what I’m saying. He’s so funny.”

Chetta smiled and lifted her coffee to her lips, taking a small sip. “Yeah?” she said, charmed. 

“You should talk to him,” Joly insisted. “After all, you should know the man who teaches your rejections about gender inequality and rape culture. Your tag team would be so powerful.”

Musichetta laughed gently. “Sure,” she said, and only just stopped herself from asking for Bossuet’s number. Joly smiled like she had lit up his world and yeah, Chetta almost wished she hadn’t rejected him, even if it seemed to have given him a new best friend. 

Wait. Shit.

“What do you text your own rejection hotline?”

  
  


**Chetta:** About to take a shower, wish you were here ;) :P

**Chetta:** What’s a nice girl like you doing in a chat like this? ;P

**Rejection Hotline:** haha sorry

**Rejection Hotline:** but no

**Rejection Hotline:** :D

**Rejection Hotline:** Good news tho!

**Rejection Hotline:** I have some advice for you!

**Chetta:** haha and then what?

**Rejection Hotline:** and then hopefully we can have a civil conversation.

**Rejection Hotline:** okay so

**Rejection Hotline:** first of all, that’s a terrible opening gambit. 

**Rejection Hotline:** kind of rude and not at all sexy, at least in my opinion.

**Rejection Hotline:** if you want some advice i would say take a moment to think about how women are people before you talk to them

**Rejection Hotline:** just an opinion, but would probably lead to more real women’s numbers, instead of leaving you with me, a random hot girl’s rejection hotline.

**Rejection Hotline:** but hey i really don’t know your life and the last guy i talked to was actually pretty cool, hot girl missed out on him he’s a catch. 

**Rejection Hotline:** or she didn’t miss out because its her life and she’s living it in her best way with her own autonomous opinions being made and acted on

**Rejection Hotline:** and good on her!

**Chetta:** wow 

**Rejection Hotline:** sorry, i’m not normally this rambly! normally i go through a whole talk about consent and toxic masculinity and explain why a woman might not feel safe saying no in a bar and give a fake number instead.

**Chetta:** so you have a whole song and dance routine?

**Rejection Hotline:** sure

**Rejection Hotline:** its the can-can of can-sent. 

**Chetta:** haha

**Chetta:** do you hate it?

**Rejection Hotline:** what?

**Chetta:** sorry.

**Chetta:** do you hate this?

**Chetta:** being a random girl’s rejection hotline?

**Chetta:** do you hate her for putting you through this?

**Chetta:** I mean, you have to be a pretty unlucky bastard to get rejected fuckboys texting you every week

**Rejection Hotline:** of course not!

**Rejection Hotline:** i love it!

**Rejection Hotline:** i mean, if i hated it i could just not respond?

**Rejection Hotline:** but this is guaranteed human interaction every saturday or sunday

**Rejection Hotline:** not everyone gets that

**Rejection Hotline:** and i mean.

**Rejection Hotline:** i’ve met some nice people.

**Rejection Hotline:** well mostly dicks you know?

**Rejection Hotline:** and even some dick pics!

**Rejection Hotline:** which is a bold move for an unverified number

**Rejection Hotline:** but uh.

**Rejection Hotline:** some of these rejected people make me downright jolly.

**Chetta:** so you don’t hate the random hot girl?

**Rejection Hotline:** haha no way

**Rejection Hotline:** honestly?

**Rejection Hotline:** i’ve heard so much about her by this point i think even i’m a little in love.

**Rejection Hotline:** she sounds like a real firecracker.

**Chetta:** oh.

**Chetta:** thank you.

**Rejection Hotline:** no problem?

 

**Contact name changed to: Bossuet**

  
  


Joly came back to the Coffee Bean just a day after Musichetta texted Bossuet and it was something like fate that had her catching sight of him just as she was taking her apron off and clocking out. She ordered her drink, put in an order for a soy mocha frappe for him, and hopped back behind the counter to whip them up. Chetta brought them over to Joly’s table, sitting down as she set down the drinks.

Joly startled at Chetta’s sudden appearance, then grinned widely when he recognized her. 

“No strings attached,” she said, “But can I just rant about the Boss a little bit?”

“That depends,” Joly said. “What kind of rant is it?”

Chetta groaned and sank into the seat. “The kind where I wax poetic about how funny and thoughtful and cute someone I’ve only had one conversation is. How did I pick out an angel’s number to be my rejection hotline?”

“Not an angel,” Joly corrected. “An eagle.”

  
  


Every few days Bossuet sent Joly a message that started with the phrase ‘Rate this idea:’ and ended with Joly gaining a new appreciation for just how lucky Bossuet was to still be alive. Bossuet’s ideas took two forms: ways to eat food without preparing anything and experiments in the legality of living in chaotic neutrality. That’s why when Joly’s phone buzzed he only read ‘Rate this idea’ before saying “Nope!” and putting his phone back in his pocket.

“Work?” Musichetta said sympathetically.

“Bossuet,” Joly corrected. “I didn’t read it but it started with ‘rate this idea’ and I just drank too much coffee to chance reading whatever comes next.”

Musichetta laughed. “Oh, boy,” she said. “I can’t wait to hear about the aftermath of whatever he gets up to.” Joly tried to keep a straight face but he only ended up blushing and grinning down at his coffee cup. 

“Yeah,” he said. “He’s pretty great.”

Chetta and Joly had run into each other twice more at the Coffee Bean before exchanging numbers and arranging a standing Fridays Coffee Date. Their Friday Coffee Dates consistently almost entirely of talking about how much they loved talking to Bossuet, with a few tangents to talk about their own lives and things going on in them. Often the two topics intersected. Chetta would complain about customers hitting on her and the validating response Bossuet had given her complaints and Joly would read out some of the better puns Bossuet had sent regarding Joly’s work in a local vet clinic. It was fun and often the highlight of Musichetta’s week, as long as she didn’t think too hard about how she and Joly called them dates but spend them talking about how much they loved the man she used as a rejection hotline.

Things were good.

  
  


**Bossuet:** Rate this idea: i put tomato sauce in a bowl and call it tomato soup. 

**Bossuet:** its tomato and its in a bowl

**Bossuet:** who has time for “making pasta”

**Joly:** What is with you and tomato soup?

**Bossuet:** I just think it’s neat

  
  


It was the night after a particularly fun Friday Coffee Date that Chetta decided to go back to her old bar haunt. She had been taking a few weeks off, preferring to spend the night inside texting Joly and Bossuet. It had been a sudden change of schedule and one she wasn’t sure how she hadn’t noticed before. Now that she noticed though she felt strangely guilty and this guilt found her back at Le Musain, dancing and hanging around the bar talking to who ever bought her a drink. 

It was the night after a particularly fun Friday Coffee Date and after a bus ride where Bossuet was particularly witty when someone tapped Musichetta on the shoulder at the bar. She wasn’t talking to anyone just then so she turned around and looked over the stranger. Tall, or at least taller than she would be when standing, and handsome in a soft way. Not like Joly was soft, or at least not exactly, but similar. His face was gentle and he looked to be around her age but already had laughter lines. Despite all this and his baldness, he looked young and sweet.

“Do you want something to drink?” the man asked. Chetta smiled seductively at him.

“Sure,” she said. “What are you having?”

The man laughed and held out his own drink, which was clear with ice. “It’s just water,” he said, and gestured to where a paint-splattered and halfway wasted man was laughing with the bartender, a friend of Chetta’s named Eponine. “I’m on hydration duty tonight,” the man said. “I keep him hydrated and then I call him a cab to get home. Along the way I keep his jokes from getting to self deprecating and cut him off when he’s too gone to notice any longer.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Chetta said.

“It’s not work, he’s my friend. He’s a really great guy. Can I interest you in sharing a cold glass of water?” the man waved a hand. “I’ll buy you something else after if you want, I just need to refill my own glass, you know? Also it’s important to stay hydrated. You know?”

“Sure, I’ll know,” Chetta said, laughing and charmed.

The man leaned over her and gestured to the bartender. When Eponine came over them man said “Hey, pal. Can my friend have a glass of water?” Eponine smiled at him, an expression Chetta rarely saw on her face. Eponine was sweet and thoughtful and gentle, but that was all underneath some very strong walls that didn’t come down for just anyway.

“Sure thing, love,” Eponine said, winking at Chetta as she poured two glasses of water.

“Thanks, love,” the man replied, winking back at Eponine.

Chetta, entirely charmed, wasn’t sure how to respond.

“Nice to meet you, my name’s Bossuet,” the man says, and Chetta’s heart stopped. 

“Oh shit,” she said out loud, and then “I’m Kaitlyn,” because somehow that was the first thing she thought of.

“Hi Kaitlyn,” Bossuet said, still smiling. 

“Sorry Bossuet,” Chetta said, “But I have to get home soon. I have work tomorrow morning. Thank you for keeping me hydrated? You’re very handsome and charming. Shit. I mean. Thanks for being cute. I mean. Bye.”

“Oh,” Bossuet said, “That’s really fair, I wish you all the best, but, uh, can we trade numbers? Before you go?”

“Yes,” Musichetta said, then remembered how they already had each other’s numbers. Whatever, she thought, she’d tell him about her and Joly’s Friday Coffee Dates and how she’d wanted to reach out to him, it wouldn’t be weird, or it would be a manageable weird, and maybe she and Bossuet could go on Coffee Dates sometime? 

Yeah, okay. This would be fine. She scribbled a phone number down and handed it to him.

Bossuet looked down at the number she’d handed him and his eyebrows furrowed for a second before they raised in shock. “Oh!” he gasped and looked up at her. Musichetta realized it was recognition on his face, then realized she’d handed him his own number out of habit. “Shit,” she said, then turned around and left the bar.

Well, she thought. That went well.

  
  
  


**Bossuet:** I hear that rejection hotline bling

**Bossuet:** That can only mean one thing.

**Bossuet:** I have now also been rejected by the Hot Girl

**Bossuet:** I can’t believe the one time I went out to a bar I ended up hitting on the girl who uses me as a rejection line.

**Bossuet:** Damn. I think I have to give myself a talking to about consent now.

**Joly:** Oh My God.

  
  


**Joly:** WHAT

**Joly:** WAHAT?

**Joly:** CHEtta, WHat?

**Joly:** How do you have standing coffee dates to talk about how great the Boss is

**Joly:** And then Reject Him when you meet him In Person!!!

**Joly:** Is he kind of a dick in real life?

**Joly:** please say no i promised him my firstborn

**Chetta:** Of course he’s not a dick he’s wonderful he ordered me a water and told me to stay hydrated it’s just! 

**Chetta:** I panicked!

**Chetta:** What could I DO?

**Chetta:** He Would Have Recognized My Number!

**Joly:** He Would Also Recognize His Own Number!!1

**Chetta:** I Realized That Too Late!

**Joly:** Chetta how could you. You looked our humble Bossuet in the eye and you turned him down?

**Chetta:** asdfghj I Paniked!

**Chetta:** He’s somehow cuter in person

**Chetta:** You would have also panicked!

**Joly:** Of course I would I have an anxiety disorder! And I’m bi! I panic every time I talk to cute people I panic when I talk to you!

**Chetta:** Oh. Do you really? I’m sorry, is there anything I can do to help?

**Joly:** Oh, sorry. That was hyperbole. I feel safe with you, I don’t panic. 

**Joly:** Most of the time.

**Joly:** you are still gorgeous

**Chetta:** Oh okay.  thanks.

**Chetta:** and uh.

**Chetta:** Good.

**Joly:** Yeah. It is. 

**Joly:** Anyway. You gotta fix this

**Chetta:** Yeah. Yeah I do.

**Chetta:** Hey. Wanna invite the boss to our coffee dates?

**Joly:** The ones where we talk about how funny and charming he is?

**Joly:** Sure. What could go wrong? 

  
  


Bossuet laughed and called it the Sad Bastards’ Club but overall seemed excited to crash Joly and Chetta’s next Friday Coffee Date. He met up with Joly outside and it was only when the tall bald man stood in front of Joly grinning that he realized for all he and Bossuet had been texting constantly for over a month they had never actually met in person. Joly threw his arms around Bossuet and hugged him close, then quickly pushed him away and apologized.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t ask first! After all the time we’ve talked about consent and the first thing I do when I see you is hug you without asking!”

Bossuet laughed, a deep and warm sound. “Can I hug you, Jolly Joly?”

Joly relaxed, smiled, and dove back into hugging Bossuet. 

“Let’s go inside,” Joly told Bossuet’s chest. “I can’t wait for you to meet Chetta.”

“How did you two end up going on Coffee Dates together anyway? Is this secretly a Rejected By the Hot Girl support group I’m being welcomed into.”

“Uh, that’s strangely close?”

“It really is a Sad Bastards’ Club,” Bossuet laughed. Joly laughed along nervously, then opened the coffee shop door and gestured Bossuet inside. Bossuet entered whistling, then froze.

“Kaitlyn?” Bossuet asked.

“Shit,” Chetta said, then “No, sorry.”

“Oh,” Bossuet said, looking even more confused.

“Who the hell is Kaitlyn?” Joly asked.

“I am,” Musichetta said. “Kind of?”

“Oh?” Joly asked, looking no less confused. 

Musichetta sighed. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s clear the air.”

“Can we sit down first?” Joly asked, ushering Bossuet out of the coffee shop’s doorway.

“Shit,” Bossuet said, and let himself be walked over to Chetta and Joly’s table. He put his hands in his pocket and took them out, put a hand on the back of the chair then took it away, and ultimately fiddled for an agonizingly long few seconds before finally sitting down. 

“So,” Joly said. “Who’s Kaitlyn?”

“Um,” Bossuet replied.

“I am,” Musichetta explained. “But I’m also really, really not. Sorry, Boss. I kind of panicked when I realized it was you at Le Musain. My real name is Musichetta, but call me Chetta. A little over a year ago I picked a random number to use as my rejection number and didn’t think about who might be on the other end until I met Joly here in this cafe. He talked about how great you were and I wanted to meet you, so I texted you pretending to be a fuckboy.”

“You make a very convincing fuckboy,” Bossuet said, looking to be in shock.

“Thank you,” Chetta said.

“The good news,” Joly said, “is this isn’t a Sad Bastard’s Club any longer because we mostly met up to talk about how great you are, and here you are being great.”

“Wait,” Bossuet said. “If you two meet up to love on  _ me _ who loves on Joly?”

“More people need to love on Joly,” Chetta said firmly, like she was gonna start throwing people at him if this wasn’t fixed soon. Bossuet fell a little more in love because yeah, more people needed to love on Joly. 

“We can fix that,” Bossuet said. “We can make a fan club, you and me. Jolly about Joly.”

“Wind beneath my wings, music in my life, please stop you are  _ embarrassing  _ me honestly. Why make a Joly Appreciation date when there’s not any club recognizing how incredible Musichetta is?” Joly moaned, face flushing.

“We kind of have that already, just informal and over text,” Bossuet replied, “But sure, I would love to go on Chetta Appreciation dates with you.”

“Oh,” Joly said, blushing and smiling. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds great.”

“Does that mean we’re all dating now?” Chetta asked. “Because I would like us to all be dating.”

Bossuet grinned. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

  
  


The first meeting of Les Amis had just ended and Courfeyrac decided to make rounds, thanking everyone for coming and asking about their lives. He wanted to know the people he was fighting with. He paused when he came upon the triad who had sat at the bar drinking with Enjolras’ boyfriend, Grantaire. They were talking so he hung close, hoping for an opportunity to jump in. 

“Fridays have been blocked off since before we even started dating,” the girl was saying. Chetta he thought he remembered her name being. “It’s Bossuet Appreciation Day, Joly and I are both busy. I have Saturday off, does that work?”

“Chetta, music of my world, Lesgle and I have that day blocked off to talk about how much we love you,” the anxious vet Courf thought might be named Joly said. Courfeyrac didn’t remember the bald man’s name being Lesgle, but he also didn’t remember the bald man’s name.

“Monday is Jolly about Joly day, so Chetta and I will be busy,” the bald man, Lesgle, said.

“Are we seriously unable to plan a date because we have too many appreciate clubs for each other?” Joly laughed. Chetta laughed with him, then ruffled his hair. Once his hair was thoroughly ruffled she turned and rubbed Lesgle’s bald head, ruffling nothing but making all three laugh. 

“It’s a good problem to have,” Lesgle protested, unruffled. “But I wouldn’t mind Bossuet Appreciation Day being rescheduled for a date.”

“We’ll just have to appreciate you in person,” Joly sighed. 

Courfeyrac backed away, smiling. He’d introduce himself some other time. They seemed busy. 

 


End file.
